


Fingers

by PallasRubiaOrigins



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: F/M, Female Gaze, Fluff and Smut, Hugs, POV First Person, Skin Hunger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 22:35:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29000055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PallasRubiaOrigins/pseuds/PallasRubiaOrigins
Summary: A night of passion during lockdown.
Relationships: Jareth/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 34





	Fingers

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own anything related to the movie Labyrinth (1986).  
> I am not making any money from writing this story, it is merely meant to amuse myself and others.  
> Please do not repost my stories without my consent.

I'm sitting with my face in my hands when the soft piano music meant to help me concentrate stops playing. Its 5-hour loop has ended. I rub my eyes and notice it has gone dark, the uncaring glare of the two computer screens on the table in front of me is the only light left in my living room. My attempt at popularising quantum mechanics patiently waits for me to continue typing. I glance at the digital clock in the lower right corner of the main screen. Almost midnight.

Another Friday night in lockdown. I'm working late again, because there is no reason not to. It's been over a year since I last spent my Friday evenings in good company, at a restaurant or in a theatre, sometimes at a night club or in someone's bed. Dancing, hugging, kissing, it only happens in my most pleasant dreams these days, and those are few and far between.

I close my eyes and lean back in my desk chair. As a single person living alone, the government allows me one 'cuddle contact'. Everyone else is to be kept at more than arm's length until this damn virus has been neutralised. Everyone wears masks now, but not the kind that made the balls I used to attend so much more magical.

Most of my friends – those with benefits and those without – are expats and have left to shelter with their families in their home countries. Those who stayed are too afraid to meet up. Afraid to get ill, afraid to get caught, or both. Quite quickly after the social restrictions were enforced, I gave up on finding a lover instead of a cuddle contact. I'm not into the desperation that now seems to pervade the remaining circles of single and available adults. Class and dignity still mean something to me.

My best friend is single as well and still around, so we became each other's cuddle contact. I see him once or twice a week. He cooks and I talk – more and more often about things that happened before the pandemic, as the days have become monotonous and I don't want to bitch about work all the time. A hug and a kiss on the cheek and then I go home again.

“A gay man is a girl's best friend,” I think, and smile wryly.

I roll away from the table in my desk chair and get up with the intention to take a hot shower before going to bed, but I feel myself drawn to the window to look out over the deserted street. The sky is overcast, there are no stars, no moon. A lone police car drives by. Its blue lights are flashing, but its siren is mute. The curfew is strictly enforced, even the windows in the neighbouring buildings are dark.

I shift my focus from the abandoned city to my hazy reflection. My ephemeral twin looks haggard and unhappy. I wrap my arms around myself, try to relax my shoulders, and close my eyes. This too shall pass, I know. I can handle the solitude, but I had not expected that skin hunger would express itself as physical pain.

I try to deepen my breathing, try to exhale some of the tension that seems permanently stuck between my shoulder blades. Stop my wild thoughts from chasing their own tails. I breathe in, hold the air for three counts, then breathe out again.

I wordlessly wish I could escape reality, if only for a short while.

I just stand there, my eyes still closed, listening to the sound of silence, breathing.

A shiver runs over my scalp and down my spine as I feel fingers softly raking through my hair. I don't open my eyes. I don't turn around. I know there is nobody here but me. I know it's just my brain trying to come up with a way to give my body the endorphin shot it so desperately craves.

The sensation dissipates.

“Don't stop,” I think. Or maybe I whisper it.

For a few seconds, nothing happens, but then the fingers return to twirl my locks and I sigh softly, enjoying the almost weightless touch.

I become aware of a presence behind me. The downy hairs on the back of my neck rise. My rational mind tells me I should be afraid, should flee, scream, call for help, whatever it is that people do when they encounter an intruder. I stay where I am. I don't make a sound. I wait.

The fingers turn into hands resting on my shoulders. I relax my arms and let them hang heavy at my sides. Silky feathers brush my palms ever so slightly.

I open my eyes and stare at the mirrored image the dirty glass offers. As expected, only my own gaze meets me. The weight of the hands on my shoulders lightens and I close my eyes again, willing the feeling to last, to expand.

The presence at my back seems to gain substance and warmth. Thumbs start to rub circles over the tired muscles of my shoulders. I shiver again, feeling some of the tension leaving my body. The gentle massage continues and I marvel at the capacity of my imagination to trick my body into providing a physical reaction to mere wishful thinking.

I feel my back cooling again, whomever was standing there has backed off. The kneading has stopped.

I push all rational thought out of my mind. I'm going to run with this fantasy, let it take me where it will. Escape.

I tilt my head back when the soft feathers brush my hands again and a breath tickles my ear. Arms wrap around me in that comforting, protective way I like so much. I lean into the warm, solid form behind me.

Keeping my eyes closed, I bring my hands up to touch the arms embracing me. Velvety fabric caresses my fingers until they land on their counterparts clad in smooth leather.

“You wish for escape,” a male voice whispers in my ear, leaving the end of the sentence hanging between an observation and a question. I remain silent, afraid that speaking out loud would undo whatever magic is being woven to allow me to feel what I feel. Instead I just murmur something that sounds like agreement.

Nothing happens for a few moments. We just stand there, his arms around me, my hands on his. I feel his chest against my back moving with each breath, feel my own breathing slowing, syncing with his. I sense his heartbeat, still slower than mine. It calms my erratic thoughts that are still looking for a shred of reality to hold onto. I sigh and let them fall into the void. They're not needed right now. They will still be there after, later.

His arms wrap a bit tighter around me as if to as if to encourage me to believe that he's real. I want to believe.

I dare to open my eyes again and this time the mirror-me in the window is no longer alone. Ice-blue eyes, near-white hair, arched eyebrows. I notice the owl-feather cape hanging from his shoulders and suppress a grin. Of course, his softest – and saddest – appearance: he reflects my mood.

“Don't you have better things to do?” I can't resist asking, even if I risk chasing him away.

To my surprise – and relief – he does not disappear, but raises his eyebrows and cocks his head without replying.

“I mean, you're a King, don't you have places to be, people to meet?” I add. “Shouldn't you be challenging wishers?”

“Some of me are,” he replies enigmatically. His voice is soft, but still vibrates through me.

Now it's my turn to raise my eyebrows.

“Some of you?”

He grins.

“Pray you do not expect me to explain the magic that allows me to be here, while also being where-ever else I am wished to be?”

I cannot help but grin back as I think of the article I was trying to write earlier. Quantum entanglement be damned. Magic will do the trick just as well.

I close my eyes again, savouring the feeling of being in someone's arms. I idly wonder if touch-starved people are to be treated like food-starved people: slowly adding increasing portions. I shake my head to stop my mind from rationalising again.

He nuzzles my neck and I bend my head to one side to let him know I like that. Another feeling to savour. He does it again, his breath warm against my skin. I almost purr.

His embrace loosens and I turn around in his arms. My eyes still resist to believe what they are seeing, but I ignore their protests and slide my arms around his waist, resting my cheek against his collarbone. One of his hands comes up to cradle the back of my head, another gesture telling me he knows what I need.

A sad despair raises its ugly head inside me. I know he will leave again. Soon.

“Please stay,” I whisper, my throat tightening.

“I will,” he soothes, and caresses my hair. My hair is longer than it has been in years, as the hairdressers are forced to stay closed. I actually enjoy just having to wash it and leaving the styling for another day.

I look up at his handsome face, trying to read the truth of his words in his otherworldly features.

A gloved finger traces my jaw then tilts my chin up and I close my eyes again as his lips touch mine ever so softly.

I hold him tighter, pull him closer against me. All these months I have been craving exactly this. And more. I realise can find escape in the present. This present. His present. Who cares about the how?

I run the tip of my tongue over his lips. He tastes both rich and light, like melted dark chocolate, like that first gulp of cold water when you are really thirsty. With the taste, I become aware of his scent as well. Leather, and the tang in the air just before a thunderstorm, and something I cannot define in words, something enticing, enchanting. I let my senses be filled when he deepens the kiss. His tongue curls around mine, invites me to kiss him back. I gladly accept.

His lips leave mine to land on the pulse point in my neck while his hands push the cardigan off my shoulders. I smile. Now that I work from home I dress in sweat pants and soft knitwear. Gone are the pencil skirts and high heels. My lacy bras and garter belts wait patiently in my lingerie drawer. What I am wearing now puts up much less of a fight.

I let go of his waist to let the cardigan drop off my arms and to the floor, then place my hands on his chest, sliding one up to the back of his neck. I want him to kiss me again. And he does. Expertly. Oh, to be kissed by someone who knows how.

When I feel him tugging the hem of my long-sleeve out of the waistband of my sweat pants, I pull out of the kiss. It's dark inside and outside, and the street is devoid of life, but still, the window is not the best place to continue.

I take his hand and he follows me through the dark hallway to my bedroom. I am glad there is no need to explain anything.

The full moon's glowing face visible through the slanted window casts everything in a silver patina. There is more light than there should be, the moon is not supposed to be full tonight, the sky not clear, but I do not flip the light switch. I'm not going to replace magical luminescence with artificial brightness.

My bed presents proof of the sad state of my love life. Two single beds pushed together to make a double, but one side clearly unused. Because, why bother with all that laundry when I am the only one sleeping in it?

I give him a lopsided grin. He just smiles, pushes a strand of my hair behind my ear and uses the same hand to pull me into another kiss. Why should he care?

I feel him take hold of the hem of my shirt again and raise my arms so he can pull it over my head. Our lips part for a moment, only to find each other again immediately after. My arms come down around his neck, my fingers tangling in his hair.

His hands move to the small of my back then up my sides, his thumbs tracing the skin just shy of my breasts. The leather of his gloves is cool and smooth, but I long to feel his skin on mine.

He must be reading my mind. His hands leave my body and I hear two soft slaps as his gloves hit the floor one by one.

I shiver when his hands return to their previous places. His skin is cool and smooth as well, but so much more alive it makes mine tingle.

He breaks the kiss to trace my jaw with his tongue. His fingers move slowly up and down my back, giving me goosebumps. I just hold on to him, letting the sensations wash over me.

I grin when I feel a pull at the string of my sweat pants and feel them slide off my hips and along my legs to the floor. What a day to forego knickers.

I step out of my slippers and push them together with the pants to the side with my foot.

I am entirely naked now while he has only taken off his gloves. He takes a step back and drinks in the sight of me, clad only in moonlight. I have never been very self-conscious, even when naked, but the unabashed lust in his eyes is something I have never seen before and I feel the blood rush to my cheeks. Never mind if looks could kill. If looks could fuck...

Pursing his lips, he reaches out and picks me up, cradling me against his chest. I gasp in surprise. Nobody has ever picked me up like this. How could he have guessed I have always wanted to know what it would be like? I _must_ be dreaming.

Holding me safe in his strong arms, he walks around to 'my' side of the bed and lowers me gently onto the cotton sheets. Then he undoes the clasp of his cape and throws it over me. For a moment the world goes dark and I laugh. I gather the soft feathers around me, inhaling the scent – his scent – that permeates the garment, and peek at him, standing there, looking back at me with dark eyes.

The moment lasts and my breathing becomes heavier with anticipation. I cannot take my eyes off him.

He slowly pulls his shirt over his head while I watch. I see his muscles rippling under his pale skin. He kicks off his boots.

My hand makes an involuntary motion towards the laces on his tight pants, wanting to free what is straining against the supple leather. He notices it and grins, takes a half step back, out of reach. His movements become slower while my heartbeat becomes faster.

I swallow hard when I see his nakedness. If I wasn't yet convinced of his passion, I am now. I _must_ be imagining this. Or...?

He takes a step towards me, bends over and kisses me again. I arch up to meet him. He pushes the cape aside and one hand strokes down my neck, over one breast – the nipple perking up immediately – and further down my body, but stops short of the place where I want it to go.

I reach out to touch him in return, but he breaks the kiss, catches my hand and places it back on the bed.

“This is not about me,” he says. “Tonight, you take without giving.”

I gape at him so casually granting me a fantasy I had buried so deep in the dungeons of my libido I had forgotten it still existed. Nobody has ever put his pleasure only second to mine. It is always tit for tat, and the balance is often skewed, and never in my favour.

He motions with his head for me to make space for him and I scoot back and onto my side, resting my head on my arm. I feast my eyes on him again as he stretches his lithe frame next to me. His movements tell me this is where he wants to be and my heart skips a beat.

He rests a hand on my hip and looks at me, the slightest of smirks curling his lips. He knows he is beautiful beyond reason. He knows what the sight of him does to me.

I trace his jawline with the tips of my fingers, hear him hiss softly when I caress the pointy tip of his ear.

I move my hand down the side of his neck, hook a finger under the cord that hangs down his chest and run it along the length of it. He grabs my hand just before it touches his pendant and brings my fingers to his lips. I cannot decipher the look in his eyes. When he places my hand back on his chest, the pendant is gone. I don't know what this means and I don't ask. Some things are better left unsaid.

He moves closer, pushes me onto my back and kisses me again. His leg presses between my thighs and I pull one leg up over his hip. I wrap my arms around him and let my hands wander.

I have had enough differently inclined lovers to have tried many ways of pleasuring and being pleasured. And, dull as it may be, I still prefer this slow, vanilla way of making love. Kissing. Caressing. No rushing to the finish line. Make it last. Quality over quantity.

So I look at him questioningly when he pulls out of the kiss and slithers down my body. He winks at me and I realise what he is planning. I close my eyes as I feel him spread my legs, his thumbs circling the soft flesh of my inner thighs, each circle getting them closer to the centre. Then he runs his tongue over my wet folds and I gasp. He softly blows on the place he just licked and I shiver. He has barely touched me and I am already melting.

I know I am not quick at reaching my peak, I burn slowly. I have not yet had the pleasure of coming through cunnilingus. No lover has had the patience. Nor the stamina. Hence the array of vibrating toys in my night-stand.

I wait for his next action, but nothing happens. I open my eyes and see him sitting there, at the foot of the bed, looking at me, his head cocked, one eyebrow raised. What? Then it dawns on me. I am thinking too much, comparing him to men who have nothing on him in any way imaginable. I need to stop worrying and start taking what he is giving me.

I close my eyes and relax my arms next to my body. I feel feathers brush the back of my hand and I instinctively pull his cape to me. His scent envelopes me again and all thoughts leave my mind. There is only me, and him, and the pleasure he gives me.

He repeats his opening move and I feel my core starting to melt again. His tongue explores me, finds the small, sensitive bud, caresses it. Then I feel his lips wrapping themselves around it, and he softly sucks. I moan my appreciation, feel pulses of pleasure shoot through my body. He sucks again, slightly harder this time. A tremor passes through me and my breath hitches in my throat. His tongue starts searching again, faster now. My lower belly tightens like a bowstring slowly being drawn back. My hands claw into the cape as he makes the sensations follow one after the other in a rhythm that steadily picks up speed. I can barely breathe when I peak and the waves of pleasure crash over me. A choked moan is all the sound I make. He doesn't stop his wet caress until he feels my body relax, the orgasm dissipating.

I swallow hard and take a deep breath. I don't open my eyes when I feel him move to lie beside me. The cape disappears from my hands and he pulls me into his arms. I am not cold, but still the warmth of his body is ever so welcome and welcoming at the same time. I take that too.

I feel myself relaxing, open my eyes to meet his. Of course I don't expect to see love in those ice-blue depths, but what I do see there is more than enough. He licks his lips and smirks at me as if silently confirming he enjoyed that even more than I did.

My lips find his. I taste myself and then him again. If his kisses are for me to take, I will have them all.

He wraps me tighter into his arms and our legs entangle again. For endless moments we kiss and hold onto each other. Then I feel his freely roaming hand become more determined. He breaks the kiss and moves to take one of my nipples between his lips. I close my eyes and let go again. He knows what he is doing. He seems to know my body better than I know it myself.

His hand finds its way between my legs and when his thumb lands on my clit, I suck in a breath. Hypersensitive doesn't being to define it.

He kisses the nipple he has teased into erectness and traces kisses up my neck, then over the side of my face. He stops just above my mouth and I open my eyes to look at him. Heavy breaths make my chest heave. I can almost hear my heart beating as if it's trying to burst out of its cage.

He is so very close. I swallow hard, not knowing what to expect next. Time seems frozen as the moment stretches, neither of us making a move.

Then, in one synchronous movement, his lips land on mine as two of his fingers dip into me. I moan in surprise and he plunders my mouth. His fingers move in and out of me, while his thumb traces circles over my clit, adding pressure and friction.

His mouth doesn't leave mine when his fingers curl inside of me, over and over again, finding a special place I knew existed but had never found before. I moan again and hold onto him tighter, my own fingers curling into his hair.

I feel my loins tightening again and quicker than I expect another orgasm washes over me. He leaves my mouth and doesn't drink in the sound I make when I peak, this time something much louder than that first squeak not so long ago. I let go of his hair as my body melts against him. I savour the intense relaxation that follows.

When I open my eyes again I see him grinning and licking his fingers. Smug as ever he wiggles his eyebrows at me. I grin back. So, this is how it's done, this is how you take pleasure from every moment and then some.

Without thinking, I reach out and wrap my hand around his erection. He looks at me with a curious expression, but doesn't stop me. I am not giving him anything, I am taking something. I just want to know what he feels like. I unwrap my hand and stroke the length of him, one finger circling around and over the glistening head. I hear him hiss and take my hand away. Now I know.

When he kisses me again there is an urgency that wasn't there before. It tells me he can barely contain himself any longer. I pull out of the kiss to look into his eyes.

“Yes,” I whisper. I will take _his_ pleasure too.

He doesn't hesitate and moves between my legs which I part willingly for him. Ever so slowly, still making every moment last, he guides himself inside me. I feel myself stretching to accommodate his length and girth and hiss with pleasure at the feeling of slowly being filled.

He places his hands on either side of my head and rolls his hips. I moan and hook my legs around his waist, feeling him enter me even deeper. I hold onto his arms and match his movements. He starts slowly, almost carelessly. But soon enough his thrusts follow faster one after the other.

His shaft inside me touches all those spots that his fingers teased into awareness earlier. For a third time I feel a clenching. My eyes go wide in disbelief. I have never come through penetration. He holds my gaze, looking down at me while he moves. Seeing my pleasure matched by his intensifies every sensation and a new feeling uncurls in my lower belly and keeps rising on the rhythm of his thrusts. Then the unbelievable happens and I scream... something... his name maybe... I don't hear it as my ears only listen to the deep growl coming from him as he finds his own release.

I press my legs tighter around him, slide my hands up his shoulders and pull him down. I relish the weight of him on top of me, his smell, his heavy breathing against my neck, the smooth skin of his back, slick with sweat, under my hands.

Is it possible to be completely satisfied and still be left wanting? I want to keep taking... I need...

~~~

Saturday greets me with a clear blue sky. Fragments of the most pleasurable of pleasant dreams float through my mind like the dust particles in the slanted rays of the sun through the window.

I stretch languidly and yawn. I haven't slept this well in a long while. I grin as I feel a sticky wetness between my legs. A dirty mind is a joy forever.

I get up and pick up discarded items of clothing as I make my way around the bed and towards the bathroom.

In the living room, the computer screens are still showing the popular science article I need to send in by Monday. I sit down and see pages and pages of jumbled letters mixed with a lot of spaces and hard returns. It almost looks as if I fell asleep on the keyboard. Well, if I did, at least I dragged myself into bed at some point during the night, so no harm done.

I scroll up to find the last paragraph I wrote. The last sentence is unfinished. Either I didn't write the ending yesterday, or it was overwritten by the random keystrokes that came after. I select the messed up block of text and press delete. I save the document for good measure and get up again. I need a cup of tea and some breakfast.

Then I notice the small white-and-beige feather half hidden under the external keyboard. I pick it up and sniff it. Leather, ozone, sex.


End file.
